Only Human
by thecrimsondagger
Summary: Mycroft Holmes had always known that he was exceptional, beyond the mere goldfish that populated his every waking moment. Even his little brother could not fully match him. But could a fateful encounter with a woman born of blood and tears prove to him that he truly was only human in the end? And maybe, just maybe, he could prove the same for her. Rated M to be safe. Also Sherlolly
1. Chapter 1

**_*4 Years ago*_**

 _Her eyes scanned the room below, eyes the only thing visible through her balaclava, watching as the dignitaries below went about their business of lies and honeyed words, observing the beautiful dresses of the women and the finely tailored suits of the men as continued to search out her target. She envied them all their ignorance to the world, to the blood and tears that were her everyday life._

" _Such pretty things will never be mine… A monster has no need for them"_

 _Her words were barely a whisper as she located her target and prepared the sniper rifle, checking around her once more for a clear escape route before turning her full attention back and pulling the trigger without hesitation. A perfect shot through the skull._

 _The next moments were chaos, perfect for her escape as she moved swiftly through the rafters of the old manor, listening as the screams of those once carefree noble ladies filled her ears and the shouts of the men made her smile. Yes, welcome to a little piece of her world._

" _Quite the assassin you are, but we were tipped of your plans this morning. Believe me,_ _ **Morte**_ _, this shall be your final mission"_

 _She stopped in her tracks, not turning to face the smooth voice that beckoned behind her. She had her serrated blade and her hand gun, she held no fear for a fight if that was what it came too. Even without her weaponry, they would be no match for her._

" _I trust then, that you know I have disposed of the snitch… Mr. Mycroft Holmes. The man behind the British government. A pure blooded genius in every sense of the word, but if I know of you then I am certain that you know more of me than my alias"_

 _His haughty scoff sent a jolt of irritation through her, turning her head slightly to register that him, taking an extra moment to appreciate the proud man before her, his figure defined by a snug looking three-piece suit and his soft looking ginger hair neatly combed back, he was clearly a man of fine taste and impeccable grooming. They appeared to be alone. Wrong, her eyes scanned the area she had managed to reach, an attic apparently. There were three men hidden within the shadows, each heavily armed. Such fun prospects humans could be._

" _Known as Morte, your true name has been lost to you. A mercenary of the highest quality who only receives the highest payments, you have yet to fail on a mission. But your success ends here my dear. You shall be coming with me. Detain her"_

 _It's as if she's watching the clumsy oafs he commands run in slow motion as they attempted to charge at her, her own moves fluid and graceful as she flicks out the serrated switch blade from her hip holster, an emptiness within her eyes as she swipes it through the throat of the first man before sending a solid high kick to the face of the second, sending him flying backwards with a bloodied nose and unconsciousness rapidly setting in, knowing that shards of his nasal bone will have been forced upwards and into the brain. It's the third that attempts a surprise attack as he shoots her thigh, attempting to incapacitate her._

 _She grunts at the pain but returns the favour of a bullet, hitting the centre of his skull perfectly, just like before, and watching as he drops to the floor, his life force fading fast as she turns back to the man once more, both seeming as if nothing has happened, both not acknowledging that her death count has moved up a further three as she smiles sweetly and draws his attention to the thigh that had been shot._

" _Here be monsters Mr. Holmes"_

 _For a moment, his eyes appear to widen in shock as the gaping wound marring her flesh begins to stitch back together, the grotesque sound of the muscle and skin tissue pulling and melding itself back into its previous state enough to turn the stomach of even the strongest men as she swipes at the blood with a tissue and flings it towards him._

" _I'm sure you will find your answers in Baskerville, my handsome friend, their experiments and test subjects have gone beyond that of monkeys and beagles"_

 _She was gone before he could get a word in, her escape route pulled off at last as she disappeared into the night and left him with the bodies of his men and a monumental mess in the ball room below. His mobile was in his hand in an instant as he sought the answers he now craved._

" _Anthea, organise an inspection of Baskerville at the soonest convenience. It appears their curiosity has taken a dangerous turn"_

 _It was the last thing she heard as she finally disappeared into the busy streets below, a smile on her lips as she heard the commotion continue behind her._

 ** _*Present day*_**

Her thoughts were cut short as the feel of her knife slicing through her index finger snapped her back to the present and she remembered that she was no longer in the field, registering that the kitchen of her tiny apartment was where she now stood as she brought the damaged finger to eye level and watched thoughtfully as the skin became flawless once more, nothing more than a trail of drying blood left behind to prove that she had ever injured herself, a soft smile pulling at her lips as she whispered to herself.

"Some ghosts truly can't be laid to rest"


	2. Chapter 2

The air of the flat felt stuffy, stale as he viewed his brothers living room with a sense of distain. Filthy, dishevelled and, by his own standards, repulsive. He sat within John's chair, the good doctor out at work in his practice, Mycroft knowing that it was likely the cleanest surface to be found in the entire building.

"I trust you understand what I am asking of you, brother mine?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, swinging his legs high as he crossed them, fingers drumming against the arms of his own chair as he processed the request the request of the elder Holmes sibling.

"You're telling me that, despite the numerous informants at your disposal, all of your technology and all of your resources, you are unable to track down a single woman and expect me to do the task which you have failed in?"

Mycroft didn't miss the sarcasm or the mockery within the others voice, his brow furrowing slightly in reprimand as he chose his own words carefully. He would never rise to his little brothers goading or snide remarks.

"Not for lack of effort, I assure you. But this is no ordinary woman, little brother, she is the world's deadliest assassin… A creation of Baskerville, something I am sure you know spells nothing good. In four years, I have found no scent of her, she is a ghost, a nightmare told to children"

"But something has changed recently. Her pattern has changed in the past six months, I glimpsed a note in your journal upon arrival, not enough to make her easy to track, but enough to garner your attention once more"

Mycroft felt a twinge of annoyance that Sherlock had glimpsed the note in his journal, he should know better than to pry. But it was true and Mycroft would not stoop so low as to deny it.

"She has recently begun to show up on the grid, here and there, a card payment at Armani, a glimpse of her face upon a CCTV camera. But her movements are clearly not for lack of care"

"She is attempting to draw your attention and guide you too her with a trail of breadcrumbs. But why you?"

He nodded, mind sifting through the number of reasons as to why she would suddenly wish to be known. She could possibly be wishing for diplomatic protection? No, he had seen first-hand that she was not an opponent easily taken down, so protection could not be her motive. She required access to a new target? Not likely either, this was a woman not unlike himself or his brother it would seem, if she wished to find a person then it would be no difficult task for one such as she.

"She is bored… Bored of the monotony of goldfish. She knows herself to be extraordinary, knows that she is far beyond what is deemed normal. Baskerville made her into something terrifying, beautiful even in its horror and now she wishes to play with another predator"

Mycroft felt horror at his own explanation, unsettled that another had been drawn to him in such a manner. He abhorred any form of emotional connection, but if a new playmate was what she craved then why had she not chosen Sherlock. He was more into the whole 'friendship' notion after all.

"Don't look so alarmed Mycroft, I'm sure you will find her to be quite a formidable companion, besides, you have spent far too long alone and a playmate is long overdue"

"I am not lonely, Sherlock"

Sherlock simply smirked, eyes flitting down to his brothers mobile as it began to ring, a ringtone he had never heard on his brother usually quite boring mobile as it persistently played the chorus of Fergie's 'A little party never killed nobody'. A small knowledge of pop culture could be useful from time to time but why would Mycroft of all people have chosen such a ring tone for this specific caller.

"What is this drivel?"

The disdain for the music in Mycroft's voice quickly proved that it was not the elder sibling's choice for such a sound upon the device, but then who? He pressed the loud speaker as he answered the call, a distinct feminine voice coming from the other end as both brother looked at each other in shock.

" **Ah, good morning Mr. Holmes, I trust you're having a lovely day?"**

"Who is it I am speaking too?"

Her laughter was bell like, causing both Sherlock and Mycroft to furrow their brows in confusion. What was so amusing about his simple question?

" **Do I truly fade from your memory so easily, my handsome friend? You were quite a nuisance for me that night four years ago, why, I am certain that no one beyond the lab team has ever lived long enough to see my mutation in all its glory before. And yet you can't even recall my alias"**

"Morte"

His words are nothing more than a disbelieving whisper as his mind went into overdrive, her gentle voice continuing over the phone as he tried to process everything.

" **Oh come now, Morte is so four years ago. You may call me Nova, yes I do believe I like that name a lot, Nova Rose. I thought my choice of ring tone simply perfect considering the circumstance of our first meeting. I must say, the security of your manor is very lacking, one such as yourself should see to his safety more carefully. It was such an easy task to break into your bedroom and add my contact and select the ringtone. You sleep like an angel darling"**

Mycroft could feel his blood beginning to boil at her words, unwilling to show the level of his frustration as Sherlock seemed to shrink slightly into his seat, his brothers hidden wrath not something he wished to experience any time soon. The British government was not beyond throwing the mother of all tantrums if he so wished.

" **Your parents are positively delightful by the way. Nothing like your good self or dear Sherlock, good morning to you too sweetie, I hacked into the surveillance your brother placed on your house, I can tell by the pattern of your breathing that Mycroft is sat with you now. Either way, tootle pip darlings, mummy and daddy Holmes are so delighted to meet a friend of their eldest that they simply couldn't resist offering a cup of tea"**

The line went dead as ice ran through the veins of both Mycroft and Sherlock, both brothers on their feet and out of the door before Mrs. Hudson could register the slamming of their exit. There was no time for pleasantries when the world's deadliest assassin currently supped tea with ones parents.


	3. Chapter 3

Nothing seemed suspicious as the car pulled up outside the unremarkable house, the countryside surroundings as peaceful as ever, neither Mycroft or Sherlock hearing any signs of distress from within the house as they marched up the path and towards the front door, Mycroft swinging his umbrella more vigorously than Sherlock had seen in a long time.

"Woe betide the woman who dare to harm mother and father"

"Believe me, brother mine, I am not afraid to use this umbrella in defence of mummy dear and father"

Sherlock would have laughed at such a comment in any other situation, the mere notion of his brother using his umbrella as a physical weapon ridiculous to his mind but, as he took a glance at his brother's face, he began to realise that perhaps that umbrella was far more dangerous than he believed.

Laughter from within caught their ears as Mycroft opened the door and continued his brisk march towards the sound, Sherlock following close behind as they entered the living room and a sight met their eyes they had not thought to expect.

"Oh Mr. Holmes! Your stories are adorable; I would never have thought that Mycroft would be such a child as to play spacemen! I can only imagine how cute he must have been"

On the sofa opposite their chuckling parents sat a woman, hair falling down past her shoulders in the richest shade of mahogany that either brother had ever seen. Natural shade, Mycroft deduced, but highlighted with various other shades to strengthen the colour from her younger years. Eyes a vibrant shade of green, a side effect of the chemicals from the experiments, enhancing he pigments of her irises and creating the startling effect they had now. She was lightly tanned, clearly a physical trait from her father, Mycroft knew enough of her birth to know that it was not from the mother's bloodline.

Her dress sense was modest but classy, meant to create the illusion of normality, of comfort and trust. A simple red, knee length summer dress and black blazer, kitten heels adorning delicate feet. Mycroft could have scoffed at the thought. There was little left about this woman that could be described as delicate.

"Oh, speak of the devil! Such good timing Myc, we were just speaking about you, and Sherlock's with you, how lovely"

Mrs. Holmes was still chuckling slightly as she addressed her son's first, getting up from her seat and embracing both, ignoring the grumbles of protest as Mycroft began to create a plausible response.

"Yes mummy dear. But if you could please refer to me as Mycroft, it was the name you deemed me with and I am rather fond of it. Now, to what do we have the pleasure Nova? I have not seen you for quite some time?"

He would play her game, for the sake of keeping his parents out of the hell that followed in this woman's wake. She smiled at him, a challenge to see how far he would cooperate with her as she spoke.

"Well, I've been trying to get in contact with you for the past six months, but you never answered my calls. I was close to giving up but I was in the area and I remember you telling me that your parents lived around here so I thought, why not call in and ask if they had any idea of how to contact you. Such luck that you would be visiting today"

Mycroft clenched his jaw at her sweet tone, the impish smile on her lips as his father sent a scathing look in his direction.

"Mycroft Holmes, we raised you to be a gentleman, your mother and I. Miss Rose has proven herself to be a charming young woman and I am greatly disappointed to hear that you have been treating her so unfairly"

"My apologies, it appears that I have been rather lax in my attentions. Miss Rose, a moment of your time, if I may? Sherlock, remain here and do your duties as a son for a change"

Sherlock scowled as his brother led the woman out of the room, her height distinctly less compared to his brother as her head barely reach level with his shoulder. 5 foot four inches at best, a distinct lacking in comparison to his brothers towering six foot two inches.

"Oh she's such a lovely girl, it's high time your brother met a nice girl and settled down, he's not as young as he used to be and we do so want grandchildren"

Sherlock could only roll his eyes at the notion his mother was suggesting, had she not yet resigned herself to the idea that neither of her sons would ever settle for domesticity?

 ***Outside, front garden***

Mycroft stopped as they reached a safe distance from the earshot of his family, hidden behind the hedge as the woman before him simply continued to smile, her eyes scanning him as she seemed to process all the data his form could reveal before she spoke.

"Really Mycroft? A spaceman of all things?"

"To hell with your games woman! What do you hope to achieve? How did you locate my parents?"

It was then that her mask dropped, revealing the empty shell of a human that she truly was, his deductions suddenly failing to retrieve anything about the façade she had worn for his parents. Now all he could read was a husk of person who had never truly been able to live.

"I play no games Mr. Holmes. Games are not something I have had the privilege of compared to your 'spaceman' childhood dreams. I simply come to you with a proposition. And your parents were simple to find. Unlike you, your brother is forever in the spotlight and, through him, it's easy to track the origins of your birth"

He scrutinised her for a moment, detecting nothing short of honesty within her voice as she met his own eyes. Even her eyes seemed inhuman, dead and empty as he began to pace around her, his curiosity peeked.

"And what would your proposition happen to be, Miss Rose?"

"It is simple really. Civilian life does not sit right with me after my retirement from the field. In fact, I positively despise it, to be surrounded by those who will never understand the world that I see. And so, I turn to you, the only other in this world to live beyond seeing the truth of my existence, the only other to possibly understand what I see. Your assistant, Anthea I believe was her alias, died little over six months ago after an assassination attempt was made on your life and thwarted by the bravery of a single woman. Do you still believe her to be little more than a goldfish?"

At her words, something within Mycroft snapped, his umbrella aimed directly for her skull. Perhaps it was her mention of his late PA, her sacrifice still a little raw in his mind despite how well he was able to hide it from the world. As it was all those years ago, his movements seemed slow to her eyes as she smirked, cold and deadly as her hand shot upwards and gripped the oncoming object, pulling it forcibly from his hand and lifting her leg in a bent position before snapping it cleanly across her thigh, discarding of the pieces to the side as he took a step back, rage evident in his eyes.

"Do not test me, Mycroft Holmes, I am not a woman to be trifled with or threatened. I offer my skills to you as a means to keep you safe in the absence of another suitable option. Here be monsters, remember? What better protection than the truest monster of them all? In return, I simply ask to be rescued from this loathsome boredom. Do we have a deal?"

Her hand extended out to him, his eyes picking up the lack of callouses on the dominant hand where a gun would once have been held. There should have been evidence of her years of service and yet her hands were perfectly preened, not a single scar to prove that she had ever taken an injury. Something he knew first hand not to be true. He had done his research on her past, but had found that the majority of her information had been destroyed many years before their first meeting, even records of the DNA on the bloodied tissue she had left behind had been deleted from all the systems, the only remaining source of the truth now stood before him, making an offer that he found he couldn't resist.

"Accepted. But do not test me Miss Rose, I am also not a man to be trifled with"

"Wouldn't dream of it… Sir"

They returned to the house once more, lies of resolved 'friendship' to appease his curious parents as he began to process the countless possibilities now placed before him, pretending to listen as his dearest mummy crooned over the possibilities of both her sons having finally learned to socialise. Such delicious prospects he thought, to learn a secret so desperately contained, but how would he go about it? He smiled in satisfaction, he did so love a challenge for even his great intellect. Such a rare treat was meant to be savoured.

Although, for all her uniqueness, she would most certainly be replacing the umbrella she had broken.


	4. Chapter 4

" _ **I don't look for trouble  
But trouble looks for me  
And it's been waiting around corners  
since I was seventeen  
they say here  
comes a hurricane  
trouble is her middle name  
But I don't look for trouble  
Yeah trouble looks for me.**_

 _ **Hey, hey!"**_

The music played through the speakers of her skull candy earphones, her phone tucked carefully into the belt of her knee length dress as she continued to survey the bar and its occupants. She detested them, their carefree smiles as she routed out her designated targets.

Eyes landing on a man as he stood beside the bar, attempting to flirt with the pretty young waitress, failing miserably as she forced a smile and made her excuses to leave his company. No surprise really, with a glance it was obvious that she had a lot more going for her than the drunk could fathom. Moderate intelligence if the set of her eyes was anything to go by, the presentation of her uniform showing that she held herself with a moderate degree of high regard and the ink smudges upon her wrist showing that she was clearly acclimatised to long hours of written work. A student then, possibly of an academic nature rather than a vocational, the knot of her tie bringing Nova to the conclusion that the subject was likely politics. Such a pity, Nova held no regard for politicians.

The man, on the other hand, was clearly dishevelled, his speech slurred and barely distinct as he continued to speak with thin air, not quiet registering that his intended score had abandoned him in favour of keeping up her high standards. Nova smirked, not the brightest flame in the fire then, the callouses and burns upon his dominant hand proving that he was no stranger to the art of weaponry, but his bearings were not of a soldier, so a sloppy hitman perhaps judging by the lack of care to his appearance. The threadbare appearance of his jacket seemed evident that he had not had much work in the past few months. The gleam of his unfocused eyes evidence to say that it was a botched job that had led to his current misfortune.

"A poor choice of target if he wishes to regain his reputation"

The man was aiming for a high profile target in the morning, going rogue from his normal employer to reinstate himself in the business, his drinking now a sign of his nerves. It would be likely that he'd fail in his assassination, but Nova could not allow any attempt to be made, no matter how unlikely it's success proved to be. She may not have liked politicians but, as Mycroft had so adamantly expressed, that didn't mean anyone should be allowed to make an attempt on the prime ministers life.

" _ **I just wanna live a quiet life  
I make an excellent wife  
Man, I swear I really try  
But some boys they just can't eat it whole  
Trouble is my name you know!  
Trouble is my name you know!**_

 _ **I don't look for trouble  
But trouble looks for me  
And it's been waiting around corners  
since I was seventeen  
they say here  
comes a hurricane  
trouble is her middle name  
But I don't look for trouble  
Yeah trouble looks for me.**_

 _ **Hey, hey hey "**_

Standing from her seat, she began to saunter towards him, hips swaying seductively as she reached him and merely ran a lone finger along the length of his thigh before walking past him and beckoning for him to follow her into the back alleyway, a tempting smile upon her red painted lips as she watched him fumble to her feet. Such an easy manipulation, clearly the brains were more in the trousers by this point.

As he raced to follow her outside, nearly tripping on his own feet, and closed the back door behind him, he found himself slammed into the wall, petite hand pressed firmly to his mouth, silencing any call for help he way have wanted to make. The nuzzle of the gun placed harshly against the left temple of his skull as Nova's honey words filtered through the cold night air.

"Mr Holmes sends his regards"

The silencer on the gun lessened the sound of impact, her hand muffling the dying cry of the man as he dropped to the floor in a growing pool of his own blood. Nova barely regarded him as she holstered the weapon back into her thigh garter and turned her back from the scene, vanishing into the night like the spectre she knew herself to be, the eerie sound of her humming the British anthem to herself the only memory of her presence that night.

" _ **I don't look for trouble  
But trouble looks for me  
And it's been waiting around corners  
since I was seventeen  
they say that girl  
got so many signs  
Fuck it, I'm a Gemini  
But I don't look for trouble  
Yeah, trouble looks for me.**_

 _ **Lights up let's have a toke  
Pour my whiskey in my coke  
Never been one of the herd  
Flipping everyone the bird.  
People say that I am heartless  
I just learnt to use my heart less  
I go hard 'cause I'm hardest  
And we ain't even started yet!**_

 _ **Hey, Hey Hey!**_

 _ **Trouble**_

 _ **I don't look for trouble  
But trouble looks for me  
And it's been waiting around corners  
since I was seventeen  
they say here  
comes a hurricane  
trouble is her middle name  
But I don't look for trouble  
Yeah trouble looks for me.**_

 _ **Hey, Hey Hey!**_

 _ **Trouble"**_

 ***Mycroft's manor***

The constant tapping of his laptop keyboard was the only noise to be heard through the manor as he refused to lift his eyes from the screen before him, sensing the presence that loomed within the door as he continued with his work, speaking with a bored drawl.

"I trust you were successful Miss Rose"

She was silent for a moment, knowing that eventually he would look towards her, his own masked eyes finally meeting her dead ones, neither capable of showing the slightest weakness or emotion. Her smile was cold, nothing true as she stepped into the room, placing the gun upon the table.

"Risk assessment, threat analysis and damage control are all taken care of. The corpse is likely being dealt with as we speak, I have altered the records of the man, giving the appearance of extensive drug dealings and criminal records. Scotland yard will see him as nothing more than another gangland killing"

His own returning smile was calculating, taking a moment to process the woman before him. She truly did seem to be the perfect associate for one such as he.

"Such a ruthless nature you have my dear, one would think were incapable of love or compassion within that heart of yours"

Her back straightened and for a moment, he thought he witnessed a flash of sorrow within those otherwise empty orbs before vanishing as if it had never existed, her words shocking even him slightly.

"I am the spawn of a loveless mother who later took the role of my chief tormentor, the product of indoctrination and mental conditioning by a government who cared little for my fate. How would I convey love and compassion when it was never shown to me? Good night Mr Holmes, if you require me further, you shall find me in my quarters"

She was gone before he could question further, his fingers linking together beneath his chin as he thought on her words. Never shown love or compassion? Why, even he had basic knowledge of the emotions from his childhood and, whether he liked to admit it or not, was capable of showing it in the rarest of moments. But not she. After a week of having the lethal creature within his residence, she had still not shown any signs of the truth of her creation. She was forever a blank canvas, not even the personality she portrayed could truly be called her own.

"What did Baskerville do to you, my charming Miss Nova?"

His words were scattered to the silence of his home once more as, against his better judgement, he began to feel something very foreign to his heart. Pity for another.


	5. Chapter 5

She never really understood why she kept the little box of mementoes, hand crafted and delicate in its intricate design, the only token she had to remember that, once upon a time, there may have been someone who cared, someone who loved her enough to buy the only birthday present she had ever received.

Inside were a few faded photos of a man stood beside a little girl who struggled to hold the smile on her lips, numerous bruises upon her arms from chemical drips and puncture wounds from the sharp kiss of a needle. Hair cut ridiculously short.

"I'm not a person… She always told me that. So why be treated like one?"

The man in the photo was holding her limp hand, a sad smile of his own on his face as he looked at the broken remnants of a child beside him. She remembered that he was the only one who showed her any kindness, gave her a name rather than a number to call her by. To him she had been Hazel, not subject 173. He had died six months after the final photo was taken, when she had just turned sixteen.

Shutting the box, she hid it once more beneath the ornate bed that stands in at the centre of the back wall, the four poster bed like a perfect cocoon for her few hours of sleep each night. The room its self was decorated in rich shades of royal blue and purple, hard wood boarders separating the walls from the plush carpet that seemed desperate to suck her bare feet into its softness.

It was nothing like her old rooms, they had been bare and minimalistic, no touch of sentiment about them, only what she needed to survive.

"Miss Rose"

She turned to the door, eyes softening deceptively at the elderly man that greeted her, Mycroft's aging butler. Mr Slater seemed a kind man with an overly forgiving nature, evident by the wrinkles around his eyes and the glisten within the grey orbs. Also, she got the feeling that only a saint could work for Mycroft Holmes for so many years without attempting murder at least once.

"Is there something I can do for you George?"

He had insisted upon her using his first name, fond recollections of his own daughter spurring on his request. She wouldn't argue with him, she had no cause to do so. He smiled warmly towards her, holding the bedroom door open as he spoke.

"The master wishes your presence within the gymnasium, dear girl"

She couldn't suppress the chuckle as she made her way out of the room, sending a flash of a smile towards the man before disappearing.

"He really does need to step into the modern age, don't you agree George?"

* * *

As Nova made her way through the corridors of the old Victorian era manor, she couldn't help but look at the decorations that lined the walls. Beautiful paintings, hard wood antique furniture and the odd suit of armour dotted here and there, the colour scheme wasn't much different to that of her own room, rich shades of red and purple, the skirting boards the finest quality hard wood she had ever seen.

With a scoff, she turned the corner and chose to ignore the surroundings, merely shaking her head at the clear ego of the man that resided within the four walls. He clearly thought of himself as some level of royalty. She could hear the sound of his footfall upon a treadmill, the exertion of his lungs as they struggled for breath and, as she turned into the doorway, could see the man in question running steadily, adorning a designer pair of jogging bottoms and sports shirt. Because clearly a simple, non-designer set of sweat pants and shirt would never be good enough for him.

"You rang, your majesty?"

His eyes snapped too her, not having heard her approach, causing his footing to catch beneath him as he lost balance and began to crash down. Mycroft shut his eyes for the impact, but found it never came, only registering the arms that hooked beneath his own and the body that supported his as she helped him off the machine and he detached himself with some small amount of indignation.

"Thank you, Miss Rose. Though I would sooner appreciate fair warning for your arrival rather than a cutting remark from the doorway"

He registered the distance from the doorway to where they now stood, becoming aware that, if it had been any other, they would not have reached him in time to prevent his landing. How had she moved so quickly?

"You will pardon the curiosity my dear, but how were you able to move so swiftly from the door to the treadmill?"

"I was under the impression that you had paid a visit to Baskerville Mr. Holmes? Surely your questions regarding my origins have already been answered?"

She watched with an air of suspicion as he moved away completely and sat within the wing backed armchair beside a large fireplace, gesturing for her to sit in the chair opposite his own. He couldn't take his eyes off her either, watching as she moved with a lithe grace that seemed fitting of only the deadliest of predators, she wore her own comfortable looking jogging pants, a plain black half shirt that revealed a well-toned stomach and running shoes. Had she been about to start her own morning exercises?

"Baskerville proved useless in the pursuit of answers, all records of you appeared to have been destroyed beyond a few files on the nature of your birth"

She merely hummed, turning her eyes to the unlit fireplace as she thought upon his words. She wasn't surprised that they had tried to cover their tracks, what they had done had been highly classified and, on many levels, inhumane. She laughed at the final thought. She was hardly human anymore.

"Then you have much to learn Mycroft. But I believe that my tale is not one which you are ready for. Your precious government has much to answer for when we consider my creation"

He scowled at her words, hating that she refused to give him the answers he craved, confused by the strange jolt of meaningless joy that went through his heart at her simple use of his name and bewildered by how she referred to her birth as a 'creation'.

"You refer to yourself as a creation quite frequently Nova. But I am certain that you were conceived and born in the same manner as myself and the rest of the world"

At this, she laughed outright, her head thrown back in a disturbing sign of mirth before snapping back forward and staring at him with an insanity that he had rarely seen in another.

"Of course I was Mycroft, my Mother was inseminated by a sperm donor chosen by the ones running the project and I was born crying and screaming, covered in blood just like any other new born. But that is where the similarity ends…."

She stopped in her speech, lifting her hand to her right eye before gouging her fingers deep into the socket and pulling the ball of flesh free from its confines, Mycroft's stomach suddenly dropping in a fresh sense of horror as he saw the circuits and little mechanisms behind the eyeball that connected deep within her skull, watching as she pushed it back into its previous position and leaned back in her chair, registering the look of anger and mortification within his own, human, eyes.

"I was born to be dehumanised, I was given no name at my birth, only a number. They took my humanity away from the moment my first breath was taken. But now we must ask ourselves this: Do you still wish for the answers to your questions or would you prefer to remain ignorant to the prior misdeeds of your precious government?"

He was still for a moment, considering her offer to forget what he had just seen. How could he though? She was something he had never considered possible, she was someone that he found himself quite fond of for her talents and her ability to understand his own mind, she was a perfect blank canvas that he found he wished to paint and mould into something even greater than before. He found he wanted to help her find a heart of her own. But, to do that, he would first need to know the truth.

"I am listening, if you are willing to share, dear Nova"

She smiled slightly, causing shock to Mycroft as he realised it was the closest he had seen to a real expression on the woman's face as a jolt shot through her heart, the rotting organ that she thought to be desolate suddenly feeling the smallest warmth as she realised: someone wanted to hear her side of things for once.

"Then let us start where all stories must. The beginning"

* * *

 **Hey guys,**

 **Hope you are enjoying the story up to now.**

 **I just wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who has followed/favourited this story so far, I'm hoping to have the next chapter up pretty soon, focusing completely on what Baskerville did to Nova and what exactly she is.**

 **Thanks again for your support,**

 **Crimsondagger xx**


	6. Chapter 6

"Then let us start where all stories must. The beginning"

She was silent for a moment, Mycroft wondering whether she had decided to go back on her prior decision until she let a small breath pass her lips and began to speak, never knowing how her next words would affect the man before her.

"We start before my conception; it is easier to comprehend the truth when you know what was suffered before. Baskerville had decided to carry out a new sort of testing, a desire to create a weapon that no other could ever comprehend, one that could move freely without ever being thought as suspicious. A human. The government was more than happy to back the notion in secret, the idea of such a weapon all too tantalising. Before me, there were a total of one hundred and seventy-two test subjects, each varying in age, race and gender, from children as young as five, taken from orphanages under pretence of a new life, to men and women aged fifty. Each subject died due to the horrendous experiments they were subjugated too, their bodies incapable of handling such pressure.

And that was when Dr. Meredith Bower came forward with a new idea, one that no other had dared to think of before due to its questionable ethics. Impregnate her with the next test subject, alter and manipulate the genes of the unborn child so that, once born, it's body would hold a natural strength to the added pressures. That child would later prove to be me"

Nova's fist clenched upon the arm of the chair, Mycroft hearing the wood splinter beneath her strength as she thought of the woman she sadly knew to be her mother. It was a small mercy to know that she would never have to see her face again.

"I was born on June 16th 1985, at approximately 8AM. my mother instantly gave me up for experimentation, not caring for me in the slightest. I was merely a means to an end for her to hopefully see a successful conclusion to all the experiments and mutilations they had carried out. From the moment my first cries were heard, there were needles and drips placed into my flesh. I was given no name, only known as subject 173, because of how many had died before me. There was only ever one person who gave me a name of my own, shared only between us as a sign of his care for me.

My mother was granted the privilege of being the one to carry out the majority of my torture, due to her part in my birth and the gratitude of the other scientists for her success in her plan. When I was older and more capable of understanding, she expressed to me how much she enjoyed causing me pain, admitting that she had never had any love for children in general and that I would never be any different. She took great happiness with pumping the chemicals into my bloodstream, hearing the screams of sheer agony I would give as she forcibly enhanced my muscle mass, delighted in how she would mutilate my immune system, the structure of my cells that controlled the heal rate of my flesh before injuring me to see how well her experiments had succeeded"

Mycroft felt an anger begin to burn within the pit of his stomach at Nova's words. What mother could do such a thing? Weren't mothers meant to have an inbuilt mental faculty that caused them to protect their children at all costs? But then, he had met Dr. Bower in the early days of his career in the government, apparently too late to stop such an experiment, she had been a truly awful woman. Concerned only with her career and how to climb the ladder. There was nothing she wouldn't have done, no matter who she hurt, to succeed.

"At the age of twelve, it became apparent that my ability for… let us call it hyper regeneration, was fully formed and in no need of further improvement. I could take stab wounds and bullets without fear, they could mutilate me beyond recognition and my skin would simply stitch itself back together as if I had never felt the kiss of a blade or the sting of a bullet. From there, they began the process of my other faculties"

Pointing towards her right eye once more, Mycroft understood what she meant as she carried on with her story.

"I was fully conscious, Mr. Holmes, when they removed my eyes and began the process of making them bionic, a procedure they then adapted for my hearing. Why offer me the peace of drug fuelled sleep when they need not fear me going into hypovolemic shock from the pain and blood loss, death ceased to be a factor of concern. My comfort meant nothing to them.

Due to the procedure, my eyes can predict your movements, even your expressions, before you have fully decided upon them, I can see you fighting the urge to clench your fists by the miniscule twitching of your knuckles, can read the rage you fight to hold back as you listen to me speak by the single crease upon your brow. My eyes are almost like a computer, there is very little in this world that they cannot process into data.

I am not a human being anymore, I doubt I ever have been. You questioned how I was able to reach you so quickly when you fell on the treadmill, it's simply because of my muscle enhancements. My strength is beyond what my body should be capable of, concrete becomes like butter beneath my fists. I can hear and see more than your human eyes and ears ever will. And I truly hate it"

She chose that moment to stand, allowing him to see her in the new found glory of the information she had given him and, for a reason he could not decode, she appeared more beautiful for her reality. Perhaps it was the weariness he could see in the tragic smile she gave him, or maybe how she still tried to hold herself with pride even though it was clear that she truly didn't feel it. Either way, he found himself standing also, towering over her deceptively small height as she finished what she wished to say.

"I have quenched your curiosity, Mycroft. But there is more to be told than what I am truly not ready to share. The things I have told you are ghosts that I have long since laid to rest, but the personal matters are a very different story… Ones that I am not ready to face yet"

He nodded. Yes, he could understand her need to keep some secrets but that did not make him any less curious.

"For what it is worth Miss Nova, I will always view you as a human being. You are not a test subject any longer, you have your own choices and free will, I will never take that from you as so many others have done before"

"And, for what it is worth Mr. Mycroft, my name isn't Nova. Call me what my only friend knew me as: Hazel"

And there it was again, that worrisome warmth that spread through both their beings as she finally gave him a smile that meant something, his returning one feeling strange upon his own face as they took their seats once more and began the process of small talk.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Broken glass and shattered dreams,_**

 ** _Tears unshed,_**

 ** _Wish to flow in streams._**

* * *

Time seemed frozen amidst the chaos around them, her body pressed to his as her lips fell open in a silent scream, eyes wide in fear and horror, something he thought he would never see upon her face.

The blood oozed into the fabric of her dress, a clean shot through the heart as her hands began to cling to him with the last of her strength that began to fade, eyes meeting his own as tears began to run free for the first time in so many years since her childhood as she struggled for words.

"Sh-she always said… My heart was my weakness"

"Hazel, focus on me and do not speak. Help is being dispatched!"

His words sounded foreign to his own ears, panicked as he held her to him with a sense of desperation. She couldn't leave him now; she was meant to be indestructible. It wasn't meant to end this way!

"I'm sorry… Mycroft. All things must die… All life must one-day fade… It is worth a bullet to my only weak spot, knowing that it was to save you"

Her eyes fluttered shut only moments after the words passed her lips, a tragic smile painted upon them as he heard his own sorrow rip from him in a mournful shout, failing to register as the private ambulance crew took her away to the hospital, vaguely aware of their words:

"There's still a pulse, it's weak but it's there! We have to move quickly!"

How had it come to this?

* * *

 ** _I want to start again,_**

 ** _Pretend the scars can fade,_**

 ** _Masquerade a smile,_**

 ** _And forget the horror,_**

 ** _My life has made._**

* * *

 **Three months earlier:**

It was laughable really he thought as he watched the lethal little woman before him, her eyes trained into a venomous glare and aimed towards the offensive object in his hands. Whilst she admitted that it was a lovely piece of clothing, she would not wear it.

"No"

"It is not so much a debate as it is a mission requirement Hazel"

She scowled at him, snatching the dress from his grasp and holding it full length before her as she stuck her tongue out in childish annoyance. Mycroft could only chuckle at the display, such a curious little woman. Since she had revealed the nature of her birth, he had found that, once her mask had dropped and she had learned to trust him a little more, a more playful, vaguely childish side of her had become more prominent amongst her traits, almost as if she were finally allowing herself the simple joy of forming her own unique personality.

"I don't wear fancy dresses Mycroft; simple knee lengths are my limit"

"It is a must, my dear, if you are to accompany me to this soirée. Nothing less than utter grace and elegance will be accepted"

Rolling her eyes and placing the dress carefully over the back of a chair, she turned her full attention upon him, weight placed mostly upon one leg and hip jutted out slightly, eyebrow quirked upwards as she regarded him. Sassy. Another trait she was beginning to develop. He was yet to decide whether this was a good or a bad thing.

"Grace and elegance? Count me out on those points then, you may need to find a new partner, I have the dance skills of a one legged drunk and the social graces of a disgruntled monkey. Don't worry though, if you need me at all, I'll be in the rafters with a sniper rifle"

With a quick thumb up, she attempted to make a getaway from the politician, only to have him block her path with a devious smile upon his lips. That was definitely not a good sign for her. In the same sense that she had begun to open up to him, the effects were vice versa. He began to show her more of his own true nature, the truly wicked sense of humour that often targeted towards his little brother, the love of all things high quality whether it be his sense in fashion or the food he ate. He had even expressed an interest in music, something she hadn't thought his computer like mind would appreciate, though it was mainly classical.

"You can't dance? I would have thought one as light footed as yourself would be a natural"

She began to back up slightly, watching as he prowled towards her like a predator, a teasing smirk upon his lips still as she held her hands up in mock surrender.

"Assassinations and bomb disposal doesn't usually require any dancing… I'm pretty certain I'd be a lot less secretive if I pulled a gun out mid-waltz, and significantly less successful if I did a quick foxtrot while cutting either the blue or the red wire"

He couldn't fight back the chuckle at her reply to his goading, a fondness gripping him as he came to a quick decision.

"You make a fair point. However, for this particular mission, it is a must that you be able to dance even slightly if you are to be on my arm for the evening"

"Oh wow… I feel so privileged sir"

Her tone rang strong with sarcasm as she mock-curtseyed for him, attempting once more to get past him, only to have him take her arm, both rolling their eyes in unison as the little debate continued.

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, sweet Hazel. I shall speak with my brother. He was always the better dancer, and far better suited to teaching you the basics at least"

"Again, I'd prefer to be in the rafters with my beloved rifle and maybe a few smoke bombs. Can't you just find a goldfish eager to climb the social or career ladder?"

"I find it is your company I favour in this matter. I have no taste for those who would use me to climb the ladder and I find that you are far more interesting than the goldfish you refer too. My decision will not be changed so consider it an order"

"Bugger"

* * *

 ***The next day***

"And one, two, three, one, two. Ouch, that was my foot! Be more careful for god's sake!"

"Well apologies if dancing around a lab isn't my ideal place to learn! Don't blame me when you're the one who refused to leave until your damn corpse was ready for 'experiments'!"

Mycroft could only pinch the bridge of his nose as he listened to the bickering of Hazel and his brother, letting out the smallest sigh of exasperation. The atmosphere, in a words, was tense. Hazel had not been thrilled to be back in any form of laboratory, for obvious personal reasons, and Sherlock, for equally good reasons, was not thrilled to be in the company of the assassin that had conned her way into the house of Mummy and father.

"You look stressed"

Looking to the side, he gave a polite smile to Molly Hooper, the pathologist who seemed ever present whenever he visited St. Bart's. A charming enough young woman with a moderate level of intelligence compared to his own, though he often questioned her mental state for the feelings she so clearly harboured towards his brother. Nothing could be said for her taste in men clearly.

"I would not go so far as to say stressed Dr. Hooper. I would venture more towards exasperated"

She nodded her head slightly, seeming to agree with him as she began to watch the pair of unwilling dance partners, occasionally having to cover her mouth for fear of laughing whenever the pair began to argue over the silliest of things.

"They're almost child-like, aren't they?"

At those words, he found himself smiling a little more honestly, never once taking his eyes from Hazel or how she fumbled with the steps that Sherlock attempted to teach, how she would get frustrated when she failed and then stick her tongue out at the younger Holmes when he reprimanded her. Or how beautiful her smile would be when she finally began to succeed.

"I think you are right, Dr. Hooper. They seem to be quite alike. Both awkward in any social situation, argumentative and more fragile than they wish to believe"

Molly turned her eye upon him then, confusion in her eyes as she seemed to ask him silently to explain only to have him give a simpering laugh.

"But we shall not tell them such things, they would surely rally against us at such a notion. You may not realise it, but my brother is not as indestructible as he likes to believe and neither is dear Miss Nova, though for vastly different reasons"

It had become an unspoken rule between both himself and Hazel: Only he could use her true name, but never in public. It was a personal thing for them both, a sign of friendship and strangely intimate he found. He liked it more than he cared to admit, the idea that it was a secret for them alone to share.

Molly felt her jaw loosen slightly in shock, refusing to let it truly drop as she looked at him. She'd never really paid much attention to Mycroft Holmes, often finding him far too intimidating and cold to attempt even the smallest of conversations whenever he visited the morgue, but now, as he trained his eye solely upon the woman before them, she saw a different side of him.

"You really care about her, don't you?"

He turned incredulous eyes upon the pathologist, expression suddenly becoming like stone as she continued to smile at him.

"I don't know what you mean Miss Hooper. I have never considered caring to be an advantage and nor shall I ever"

"I guess it's not as obvious to you, someone who views the world in facts and figures instead of beating hearts and constant emotions. But I can see it. Whenever you've visited the hospital before, you always seemed almost robotic, so detached, but since you arrived this morning with Miss Nova, you've been smiling whenever she looks at you, your eyes actually have a gleam to them… You seem more alive for having her near you"

She stopped for a moment, choosing to ignore the constant icy gaze he chose to send her way before continuing.

"I wouldn't say it's love Mr Holmes. But it's definitely clear that she means a lot to you"

A feeling of ice in his veins shot through him at her words as she gave a final, friendly smile before turning her attention back to Sherlock, who seemed to have given up completely on the days dance lesson with an exclamation of 'It will do for now', as Molly tried to speak with him and hint at a possible date.

Hazel simply shrugged and made her way back to Mycroft's side, seeming to notice the uneasiness in his stance. She had heard everything, her bio-enhanced hearing unable to ignore the conversation as an uncomfortable feeling had shot through her own stomach, almost like butterflies she thought. She'd never experienced it before, love in its truest sense or form. Part of her felt that she never wanted too. She was too dangerous, too hellish for any man to ever love, let alone care for. What had happened to her only friend was testimony enough to the fact.

"You can't hide such a conversation from me Mr Holmes. But don't worry, such feelings will pass as you learn more. I am not a creature worth loving, nor should anyone ever consider it. There are far more worthy women for such sentiment than I"

He frowned as she turned to leave the lab, her own cold mask firmly back in place as a distance seemed to grow between them once more. She was attempting to put distance between them once more, but why? For his own safety perhaps, or perhaps for her own? Possibly both. As he followed, he found the warmth in his chest grow even stronger at her decision to spare them both possible pain.

 _'If only you could see it for yourself, never have I known a woman more deserving of love than you, my beautiful Hazel'_

For the first time in his life, Mycroft found himself genuinely considering the idea of a companion, someone he could truly envision spending the rest of his days with. It was a frightening thought but, strangely enough, not in a bad sense. Perhaps he was merely blinded by his curiosity of her, but something told him it was much more than that.

* * *

 **Hey guys, just to give you a quick heads up on the next few chapters: the next two or three chapters are going to be time skips that lead up to Hazel being shot, in that time I'll be explaining how being shot through the heart is bad news for her despite her mutation. We'll also be seeing how the relationship between Mycroft and Hazel develops and see the introduction of an unexpected saviour in their hour of need.**

 **Thanks to everyone for supporting so far, hope you all continue to enjoy it as we carry on with the story :)**

 **CrimsonDagger**


	8. Chapter 8

***Two months and seven days earlier***

Her head snapped to the left with the force of his fist colliding with her jaw, spitting blood onto the floor as she turned defiant eyes back to him, revelling in the fear he tried to hide as the cut to her lip began to stitch back together, leaving nothing but drying blood in its wake.

"What monster has Mr Holmes hired?"

Hazels bloody lips turned up into a smirk, her eyes glistening as she tested the bonds on her hands that bound her to the chair, mentally rolling her eyes at the fact that they had failed to bind her legs. Amateurs. They really didn't know what they were dealing with, let alone realise the fact that she had let them kidnap her.

"That's something you won't live long enough to figure out"

These bastards were hired by a rival of Mycroft's, she'd been looking into the affairs of all the people that her boss worked with and, although she was working behind his back on this one, she wasn't about to let these guys mess with someone she cared for.

"What the fuck are you talking about bitch? We've got you bound good"

His nervous laughter followed those words as he took a subconscious step backwards and his other hired thugs exchanged troubled expressions as Hazel's head fell completely to the side and a maddened gleam came to her eyes, a psychotic smile upon her bloody lips.

"Time's up fuckers"

Her movements were fluid as she stood up and swung her body round, slamming her chair into the side of the closest kidnapper, knocking him to the floor before throwing her weight down onto him and smashing the chair on his chest, effectively freeing herself in the process of puncturing his lungs and heart with his own shattered ribs.

"Oh look… One dead, three to go"

She barely skipped a beat as she spun on her left foot and slammed her right leg firmly into the skull of her second target, the sound of his skull fracturing reaching her enhanced hearing as she darted to him and gripped his barely conscious form before snapping the vertebrae of his throat.

"Two down… You're making this far too easy for me"

The remaining two seemed to be cowering away from her, all courage lost now that she was free and clearly on a different level from them. With shaking hands, the main thug, that had threatened her so candidly only moment earlier, pulled a gun from his jacket pocket and attempting to aim it towards her.

Hazel grinned widely as she paced forward and got close to the muzzle of the gun, resting her head against it leisurely as she spoke in an almost song like manner, seeing the fear grow to new levels within the man's eyes.

"Pull the trigger, I dare you. You'll love what happens next"

The shot rang out in the sudden stillness of the room, the sound of hazel's body hitting the floor as blood oozed from the single bullet hole within her skull.

"Stupid, crazy bitch… Ain't no way her freak arse is getting up from that one"

"Guess again"

Their screams echoed off the walls as Hazel jolted upwards, the clean gunshot wound clearly stitching back together as she stood up and ran at them once more, their screams dying down as she snapped the neck of her third target and snatched the gun from the final thug, gripping him in a solid head lock from behind and kicking him in the back of the knees to send him to the floor as she placed the gun to his own temple.

"Unlike myself, I'd say you won't be making a miraculous recovery after this"

"Wait! Come work for my boss instead, he can pay you double whatever Mr Holmes is paying you"

Her giggle was overly soft and airy, ill fitted to the situation as she turned his head to meet her demonic gaze, pressing the muzzle of the gun a little harder into his temple.

"What boss? I got him before I let you guys kidnap me… And money really isn't my motive for this, Mycroft doesn't even know I'm here… I think"

The final gun shot rang out at the end of her sentence, a curious look upon her face as she thought over her own words. Mycroft had cameras across the entire country, there wasn't a single thing his shrewd eyes and calculating brain didn't see or process. She sighed, pulling a tissue from her bloody pocket, attempting to wipe some of the blood from her person before making her way towards the exit.

"He probably knows… Oh well, I'm late for dance lessons"

* * *

Mycroft groaned as he rewound the CCTV footage, Sherlock watching over his shoulder with a devilish smirk across his face that only seemed to make Mycroft even more uncomfortable. The multiple screenshots clearly showed Hazel, first going into the house of a rival politician that had been attempting to slander Mycroft in parliament, eager to attain the same privileges as the elder Holmes sibling. The second showed her clearly leaving the house, casually wiping her hands with a tissue before placing it into her pocket.

But it wasn't this that he was concerned about. Hazel was a master of assassination, there would be nothing left behind that would indicate her involvement and therefore it would not come back to him. Also, he would wipe all traces of the footage, create a loop in the system to cover any time skip and therefore further cover their arses from any negative effects.

No, it was the third and final footage that caused him to worry, although most likely unnecessarily. It showed her walking out from a pub only a few hours later, clearly pretending to be a little tipsy as a group of four men moved in on her, seeming to knock her unconscious before they bundled her into the back of an unmarked car. The sight sent a sickening sensation through his stomach at the thought of someone laying hands against her.

"And how many hours ago was this final footage taken?"

"Approximately six hours ago Sherlock, and remove that foolish grin from your face before I order Lestrade to do a drugs raid on your flat"

Sherlock scowled at his brother's threat, knowing better than to think it an empty one. The last thing he needed was the morons at Scotland yard finding his stash.

"Anyone would think you were worried, brother mine. Don't tell me loneliness has finally had you find yourself a goldfish"

"I'd hardly count myself as a goldfish Sherlock… I prefer shark"

The brothers nearly jumped out of their skin at the feminine voice that drifted from the doorway, Hazel stood there with a slightly unimpressed gleam to her eyes, her clothes looking torn and tattered, a number of bloodstains evident upon the fabric and a few streaks of blood upon her face that she seemed to have been unable to wipe away. Sherlock could see no sign of an injury upon her person, was the blood all her own or completely someone else's?

Mycroft felt a twinge in his chest at the sight before him. What had possessed her to put herself in such a situation? She had clearly, to his eyes at least, taken more than her share of hits during the encounter that were likely to have been to keep her persona of helpless captive, but what of the blood on her face that seemed to focus upon her forehead?

"Ah, Nova, we were beginning to wonder where you had vanished too. You are usually so punctual"

She smiled as she watched Mycroft rise from his seat and take a few steps towards her. Her eyes registered the fading glimmer of concern within his own eyes, registered the weariness of his step that seemed mostly from stress induced fatigue. Had he really been that worried about her?

"There's no need to worry Mycroft, you know that I can look after myself. I just had some business to deal with that couldn't wait"

His frown deepened slightly at her words. Any other woman would have been trembling in fright at having just been kidnapped, would have felt horrified at knowing she had just taken more than a few lives in the space of less than a full day. He would not have changed her for the world and yet, he still hated the path that her life followed.

 _'I wish I could save you from this bloodied path you walk, my beautiful Hazel… But it's all you know and only you can make the choice to place down your weapons'_

His thoughts were like a knife to the heart as he realised further just how deeply the world's deadliest assassin had nestled herself within both his heart and mind. He knew that she was in no true danger, she had made no mention of a weak point in her abilities so he could only assume that such a thing did not exist or, if it did, it was not a easily found one, but the fear of losing her still sent a chill through his spine whenever she chose to take such actions.

"I shall take your word for it then. Although, as punishment for tardiness, you will be wearing full heels with your dress to our soirée"

"What! You agreed I could wear pumps!"

"And you're forgetting I have surveillance all over the country and can see the blood all over your person as well as the bloodied tissues in your pocket. I know what your business was, now accept the repercussions"

Sherlock merely chose to watch the two bicker between themselves, intrigued by how they interacted as it became clear they were completely absorbed in each other at that moment. Had his brother truly fallen for this woman? Such a strange combination he thought, an assassin and a politician. Could it even be possible for someone like either Mycroft, Nova or himself to settle into functioning relationships considering what they all did in their daily lives?

 _'Perhaps coffee with Molly Hooper wouldn't be such a bad idea after all'_


	9. Chapter 9

***One month and sixteen days earlier***

She could feel his eyes upon her, could hear the minute twitching of his hand muscles upon her pen as he attempted, and failed, to hide his own minor irritation from her ever perceptive eye. How did he still think, after so many months of her working for him that he could hide anything from her.

"Mycroft. If you have something to say, then you should just spit it out. I could cut your tension with a knife"

His eye twitched slightly at the comment. Damn it. How was he meant to explain his growing irritation, not towards her personally but more towards himself, when all her reply would be is that his growing sentiment would eventually fade, that she was meant to be used as a tool, not seen as a woman with needs or feelings.

Hazel furrowed her brow as she noticed the grip on his pen tighten only slightly, could hear the change in his breathing that even he was unlikely to realise. Had someone caused him trouble, did he require her assistance?

"I feel that you have wronged me slightly, Hazel. We seemed to be making progress and, dare I say, becoming 'friends', as Sherlock likes to say. Yet, in these past few weeks, I feel that you have pushed me away when I have not warranted such behaviour. The promise that you would one day tell me further of your past now seems like nothing more than a ruse to gain my trust and favour"

It was not a complete lie but not the complete truth of his feelings. Truly, he felt that she had begun to push him away since beginning her dancing lessons, that in the few weeks since her assassination of his political rival, Sherlock had made more progress with Molly Hooper than he had with Hazel. Heavens, his brother had managed to first attain a coffee date and then a dinner date with the young pathologist, whilst he could barely get a hint of the more personal past that Hazel had mentioned to him.

Hazel supressed the urge to frown at his words, knowing that he had every right to say such things. It was true that they had moved forward from where they had begun and achieved a strange form of friendship. But that had been how her current problem had started, those feelings were beginning to grow stronger, into something she knew little of and that, in her computer enhanced mind, was the scariest thing she would ever face. It terrified her to tell him her darkest truths because then she would lose him forever.

"You don't understand Mr. Holmes… I am not someone that you should wish to know or be close too"

It wasn't for just for her own sake that she was afraid, but his also. She was a man-made monster, something to be considered as a horror, a nightmare to scare the children and adults alike. If he knew too much then, no matter how brilliant he was, how much influence he held upon the British government, he would be in a whole new world of danger and it would be all her own fault.

"And so we return to formality. I see how it is Miss Rose, then perhaps we should relinquish ourselves of these moments where we sit together. It is clear that they are not appreciated."

The pain in his heart felt alien as he cast a cold gaze upon her to cover his own damaged pride. How could she be so vacant in her own heart when his seemed to yearn even stronger. For her part, Hazel simply chose to turn her face away to hide the sorrow in her eyes that couldn't be removed. How could he be so dense? She could feel the tension and buried anger between them, heavy as concrete ad so easily removed if only their situation were different.

"And allow me to be clear on this Miss Nova Rose, but I do not choose to spend my time with others lightly. I abhor the concept of friendship and any emotional matter, yet I believed you to be the difference"

She couldn't take it any longer as each word cut like a knife, from his use of her fake name to how he accused her of intentionally hurting him, and she slammed her fist into the arm of the wingback armchair she had been sitting upon, shattering the mahogany wood beneath its cushioned fabric as she stood and stalked towards him, the fury in her eyes enough to make even him realise he had gone too far.

"You think I chose to be like this, that I ever had a choice to anything other? You truly believe that I wish to be alone? Then you are fool! For all your intelligence and power, you are nothing short of truly moronic. There's nothing I would love more than to live a normal life, to have friends and a family, to have a lover who I could share my heart with. But I can't. The only friendship I ever had before now was stolen from me when I was ordered to assassinate him. I murdered the man who named me Hazel!"

She was gone before he had chance to reply, his mind racing as he heard the door slam behind her as she seemed to escape into the garden and he found himself standing to follow, desperate for answers to the questions she had left behind.

She fumed as she stomped through the garden, aiming for the old oak tree that stood at the very centre of the vast grounds.

"What does he know of me! He thinks he can question me after only a few months of me WORKING for him? That ARSEHOLE!"

Her words only seemed to fuel her rage further as she climbed to one of the lower branches of the large tree, slumping against the trunk as she looked back at the house and began picking twigs to throw at the ground below. She wanted to scream, to hit him for his words as she cried to the heavens for her fate but realised that she could do none. She would not degrade herself further, would not lay a hand against the man she could never have and she sure as hell would never cry, she would not show such weakness. She scoffed at the thought, she had already become weak and it was because she had allowed it.

"I'm a disgrace"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that"

Her eye twitched as his voiced drifted up from the ground below and she turned an annoyed gaze upon him as he stared back at her, expression carefully masked in an attempt to hide from her overly observant eye.

"Have you come to continue the fight? I am in no mood to argue with you Mycroft"

He smirked slightly as he moved to stand against the tree trunk below her, aware that it would do no good for his suit jacket but finding that he didn't care in that moment. She was all that mattered he realised.

"I would never wish to fight you, dearest Hazel. I would lose without a doubt. But I have come to ask you to let me in… I would never wish to force you into anything and I apologise for my words earlier, to realise that I will not turn my back on you now, I am too far gone to ever turn away now"

She felt a lump in her throat as her eyes began to fill and Mycroft's own widened slightly. She was crying and he knew that he was partially to blame, he hated the thought of causing her tears as she grimaced and swiped her hand against the offending tears.

"You have weakened me Mycroft. I haven't cried since my sixteenth birthday and yet, you have reduced me to that state once more with your kindness towards me"

"Some would say that it is progress rather than weakness"

Shaking her head, she couldn't help the small amount of laughter that escaped her lips as he smiled a little also.

"You have met my mother; you should know that it was never an option for me"

"You are no longer under your mother's control and you are free to cry when you feel the need too. You are only human after all and, as much as I thought I would hate to admit it, so am I. I have a heart Hazel, I have hopes and dreams just as any other, it is an inescapable fact of humanity. Our hearts yearn, feel beyond what we could hope to express and you have taught me that… I only wish to help you understand also"

His words sent a warmth through her soul as jumped from the branch and moved to stand beside him, realising the slight insanity of that moment. He was the man behind the British government, powerful and brilliant, unrivalled by any other including his brother, and she was the world's most lethal assassin, barely even human anymore and her hands tainted by a river of blood that his precious government had ordered for. Yet, there they stood, side by side with their heads hung slightly as their fingers touched and moved to lock fully together, a precious moment between them as two hearts slowly began to beat as one and two sets of uncertain eyes met each other, neither realising the true significance of that moment.

"We are a strange pair, aren't we Mycroft?"

"I believe we are Hazel, strange but brilliant… I will not pressure you further, I can wait to know more about you. But please, do not push me away again"


End file.
